


I’ll miss making angels with you in the snow

by RainbowRandomness



Series: Leading Up To Christmas... [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Challenge Response, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas traditions, M/M, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 18:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRandomness/pseuds/RainbowRandomness
Summary: They walk in silence, the only sound coming from the crunching of the snow beneath their shoes. The clouds have paused in drifting snow down from the sky, but a chill is still in the air, an expectancy for more to come.





	I’ll miss making angels with you in the snow

**Author's Note:**

> part of the [Leading Up To Christmas...](/) challenge on dreamwidth; _23rd -- > traditions (traditional or new ones being made!)_
> 
> there are so many traditions at Christmas and yet there are always a few unique to ourselves and our loved ones. this idea came to my mind and wouldn't leave, so here it is. it's a tad sadder than my last instalments, and I hope I did it justice. 
> 
> Title from _The Sweetest Gift_ by Craig Aven (which you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yFXfAGl17M))

It's cold outside, snow already laying thick on the roads. It turns to slush beneath the wheels of the car, sloshing up the skirts of the pavements and swimming down into the gutters. The clouds have paused in drifting snow down from the sky, but a chill is still in the air, an expectancy for more to come.

Connor watches the streets fade, buildings becoming few and far between, less cluttered than the inner sections of Detroit. They drive near the water's edge in silence, passing by the park and the bench, collected memories stored in Connor's mind.

It's funny, he thinks, how they have touched so many places across Detroit, how many areas hold a piece of them, each one locked away in his mind. This place will be another one to add, a new place for him to store away and cherish.

Hank hasn't turned the radio on. Connor is used to the blaring energetic beat of Hank's heavy metal music, but today they drive in silence. Hank hasn't said anything since they got in the car and Connor hasn't attempted to make conversation, understanding that his partner is lost in his own thoughts, his own memories. He lets him be and watches Detroit's landscapes pass them by through his window.

It doesn't take them long to reach their destination. When they pull up to park Hank kills the engine but makes no move to exit the car. He sits, quiet, his eyes lost and far away as he gazes out through the front window. Connor sits patiently beside him, hands folded in his lap, fingers itching to reach for his coin tucked away in his coat pocket. He keeps his eyes trained out the front window, taking in the landscape in front of them; snow covering the ground, a few benches here and there, the fence and the gate that were recently painted this year. A few trees with bare branches sway gently with the cold breeze.

After a few more moments Hank eventually moves, a shallow sigh leaving him as air blown through his nose. He opens his door and steps out and Connor follows suit, quick to manoeuvre around the front of the car and place himself at Hank's side.

They walk in silence, the only sound coming from the crunching of the snow beneath their shoes. Hank has his hands shoved into the pockets of his winter coat and Connor wishes he could take Hank's hand in his. He shoves his own hands further into the pockets on his own coat, ducking his chin into the scarf wrapped around his throat.

Hank knows where he's going, has walked this path so many times over the last three years. Connor walks beside him, taking in the view around them, before Hank stops and Connor stills, halting his steps.

The headstone is a smooth white with a tint of pale blue. _Cole Anderson, Sep 23, 2029 - Oct 11, 2035_  is engraved in pure white lettering across the surface, the font neat and perfectly aligned. _Always Loved, Never Forgotten_ , reads in a smaller print near the bottom, almost hidden by the mounting snow.

Hank kneels down in front of his sons grave, settling his knees into the wet cold.

"That time of year again," he begins, voice thick and low, soft and quiet. Connor feels as though he's intruding, stepping into a space that isn't his to occupy by witnessing this, and yet Hank had asked him to come. He stays where he's standing, hoping that his presence is of some comfort.

"Always feels weird not having you here. Even after dealing with it the years before, it doesn't- sometimes it still doesn't feel real. I keep expecting you to be there to help with the tree and to try and sneakily watch me wrap your presents. Sometimes I see a toy on a shelf in a window and think you'd want it for Christmas and then-"

He pauses, the air growing still. Connor waits, watching Hank's shoulders rise and fall with each breath, slow and steady, even breaths.

"It never gets easier not having you around kid. I think about you all the time."

Connor almost thinks to step away, to give Hank some space. Hank's quiet again for another moment and then he shifts, his hand coming up to brush away the snow covering the top of the headstone.

"It's Connor's first Christmas, ya know. Ain't that funny to think? Never had Christmas before. I've been showing him the traditional stuff, of course. We put up the tree. I found out he's a lot better at wrapping gifts than me."

Connor feels himself smile at the comment. He hides it in his scarf.

"We watched some Christmas films too. We watched a few of your favourites, and he liked them too, so I guess he's got good taste. I bet you would've had fun telling him about all your favourite scenes once you'd watched it together, huh?"

There's a chill in the air. Connor looks up at the clouds that paint the sky white. From beneath him he hears Hank sigh.

"You would've loved him Cole. You really would've loved him."

Connor looks down towards his partner, unsure of what to say, if to say anything at all. Hank is still facing the headstone, having fallen quiet for a moment as though in thought. Connor stays silent, patiently waiting for Hank to continue.

He does after a moment. He swipes at the last few pieces of snow that cling to the headstone with the sleeve of his coat, his voice still low and soft as he speaks.

"I miss ya Cole. And I love you. Always. Don't forget that."

Connor shifts as Hank moves to stand, a grunt leaving him with the exertion. The pads of his knees are soaked through, the denim turning a dark shade of indigo from the wet snow. He returns his hands to his pockets, his eyes still on the headstone.

"Merry Christmas Cole."

As they make their way back to the car Hank takes his hand from his pocket and silently takes Connor's hand in his. He squeezes his partners fingers lightly, a silent thank you.

As the snow begins to fall, Connor entwines their fingers together and squeezes Hank's hand in return, hoping he understands and knowing he does.

_Thank you for letting me be a part of this._

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [tumblr](http://rainbow-randomness.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/RainbowRandoms) | [dreamwidth](https://rainbowrandomness.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site.


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